


Cold Comfort

by Book7BrokeMyBrain



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Flirting, Gen, Hiatus, Mycroft's brand of flirting, Pre-Slash, mycroft holmes/Greg Lestrade - Freeform, mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-16
Updated: 2013-12-16
Packaged: 2018-01-04 21:27:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1085879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Book7BrokeMyBrain/pseuds/Book7BrokeMyBrain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg receives a little TLC.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cold Comfort

Lestrade shivered outside the white tent covering the body. It was March; it had been twenty degrees warmer when he'd got to work that morning. He had left his gloves in his desk and his coat in the panda car, which had driven off on another call an hour ago. And now it was snowing. Terrific.  
He stomped his feet subtly on the pebbles of the riverbank, tucked his hands under his armpits, and tried to look the part of the stoic policeman, untouched by the pernicious effects of the elements.  
He turned as he heard footfalls approaching behind him, out of the falling darkness, into the glow cast from the tent. Mycroft Holmes picked his way across the stones like a cat walking across wet pavement. Lestrade was fairly sure the soles of his expensive shoes never actually touched the earth.  
“Mycroft!”  
“Yes, hello, Detective Inspector.” He came to a stop just outside the boundary of an Englishman's sphere of personal space.  
Lestrade struggled to understand. “Why – What can I do for you?”  
“Ah. You haven't heard as yet. She was one of mine. You ought to have got a dossier by now.”  
“Yeah. No. Didn't.” Lestrade clenched his teeth to keep them from chattering. His gut shuddered with the cold.  
Mycroft pursed his mouth. “This won't do. Come up to my car. You're obviously cold.”  
“Can't. SOCO is just about done, then they'll need me for a bit.”  
“Are you, or are you not, in charge of this site? Let them come find you!”  
“Nah. 'Salright. I'll just work on my stiff upper lip for a few more minutes. Should be frozen stiff by then. Perfect.” He chuckled, but Mycroft frowned and tugged at the fingers of his gloves. He slipped them off and stepped close.  
He pulled Lestrade's hands forward, one after the other, drawing the gloves down over each, fitting Lestrade's chilled fingers into each warm, furry sheath. The fingers were much longer than Lestrade's. He tried to protest, but didn't have the heart, not when he could start to feel his hands again.  
“Save me from proud idiots.” Mycroft untucked the plush scarf from inside his coat, crisply unwrapping it from his throat.  
“Now you sound like your brother, rest his soul.”  
Mycroft halted a moment, then proceeded to drape the blood-warm cashmere and silk around the back of Lestrade's neck, carefully over his ears, around and to the front again. Lestrade hummed with relief, even as his ears stung from the return of warmth.  
“I will check on that dossier for you, Inspector,” he said, as he slipped off his coat.  
“Don't be ridiculous, Mycroft. Keep your coat on. The gloves and scarf are a very nice gesture, but --”  
“But, I'll only be a minute. I'll be _fine_. You warm up. We can't have the Met falling over in the streets, can we? The paperwork is horrendous.” He draped the coat around Lestrade's shoulders, setting it in place with a pat. He tweaked the scarf, tucking it just so under Lestrade's chin. He raised a warning brow. “I'll be back shortly.”  
He turned and dissolved into the dark and the snow. Lestrade watched until he couldn't see him anymore, climbing the worn stone steps to the quay.  
He sighed and relaxed his hunched shoulders. He breathed in deeply for the first time in hours. Past the odor of low tide, stone and water, he inhaled the warm scent of Mycroft's cologne, a very soft mixture of warm spices, citrus, and coniferous botanicals. _The rich even smell better than the rest of us_ , he thought, happily waiting the minutes until the SOCO officer stepped out with a clipboard of paperwork for him to initial.  
In his suit jacket, his phone chirped with a text. He was too bundled to check it right away. He handed the clipboard back, eager to return to the Yard, then go home.  
He looked around and snagged a sergeant coming down from the street.  
“You see a man in a black sedan up there?”  
“The one with the driver? Yeah,” he said, “he took off a while ago.”  
Lestrade nodded his thanks and drew out his phone. _Just_ like his brother.  
 _I'll pick you up at the Yard tomorrow, 7 PM to collect my things. MH_  
Lestrade grinned and burrowed deeper into the coat and scarf.

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd.  
> I've had a few vivid scenes in my mind I just had to write down. This is one.


End file.
